Dennis Hopper checked out. I’ve only met him once, but in my head I cast him as this faraway, fantasy grandfather. I remember going to see him at this New York Times gala and asking him about a movie he directed, one of my favorites, Out of the Blue. This actress, Linda Manz, starred in it, she wore this Elvis blue jean jacket all throughout the movie that I’ve always coveted. Also: always coveted the way she talked, she had major ‘tude. He was so glad I had watched it and wanted to know more about it — guess everyone always prefers to talk about Easy Rider or Speed, ya know, or the many other iconic roles in his long career. When he was younger he dated Natalie Wood, and in our short 20-minute conversation he told me I reminded him of her, which made me unnecessarily sentimental, because I was named after her. He was really patient and he looked at you straight in the eye, but it wasn’t unsettling like I thought it’d be. You could tell he was a recovering addict of something because he totally threw himself into whatever he did with total intensity. Towards the end, it was hard to see the recent photos of him, just as heartbreaking a decline as Paul Newman’s, though Dennis Hopper was nowhere near as universally adored. He reminded me of when my grandfather was dying of colon cancer: lotsa life left in a surly man, trapped inside a dying body, all bones and teeth. Trained in Shakespeare, sick art collection, photojournalist, Midwestern boy, burned bridges, profound gaze, played it to the bone.
- from my journal, May 31, 2010
